


under your spell

by catboyvirgil



Category: Chapo Trap House (Podcast), Internet Personalities, US Comedians RPF
Genre: M/M, this one i am sorry for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catboyvirgil/pseuds/catboyvirgil
Summary: making parents listen to 21 guns · @ByYourLogic·1h| LA isn't that bad i guess💬 89 🔃 213 ❤️782





	under your spell

**Author's Note:**

> uhh i wrote this ironically

god fucking damn it;

that’s all felix thought, feeling the whole weight of hasan inside, hard and hot. it hurt but at the end of the hurt there’s the sharpest kind of pleasure. his arms looped under felix’s, his fists flexed through the webs of sheets and hands. he cries out; full, so full.

five days ago he’d met hasan in person. after the posts, then eventually the pictures. wasn’t it so odd, seeing someone after you’d only heard them? it felt… predetermined. they’d even spent time together privately online, not amongst a sea of comments. laughing about a post in dm’s, or playing halo together. sometimes, rarely, sweetly, a skype session. no other distractions. the immediacy of the response. no thinking about it before sending.

day one. they’d met up for dinner; hasan hadn’t offered to pick them up from the airport (“it’s LAX”) and it felt so professional. it worried felix. the meeting was too brief. 

day two. recording came too quick, felix wished he had one extra day to get to know him before he had to do bits with him. but hasan was gifted at creating conversation, and making it feel natural–his stream was impeccable in this way. had a way of talking to you like he was your friend. felix wouldn’t tell a soul but he sometimes would throw it on as background noise as he played videogames, just listening to the sound of the man’s voice…

assertive. just as he was now, but usually without the sensual lilts of his words now pouring into felix. or sometimes they were sensual, if he was getting cute with it on the stream as he did so often. felix occasionally saw through the flirting and often thought that hasan was corny, but at the same time he relished the man’s spirit. it was different than the rest of felix’s friends. the man actually posted thirst traps. in a way, it was inspiring.

a third day passed in los angeles after felix arrived with no hasan at all. the worry grew. what if that guy–the guy from skype–wasn’t real in the way felix had thought? once hasan had called him, high as hell in the middle of the night, and they’d laughed even past felix’s bedtime (but hasan had the leg up with the PST timezone). but maybe that was still some form of a parasocial relationship; the two didn’t have to interact in the way felix had to with his friends in new york. and yet it made him want it all the more.

then the fourth day. was all hope lost? felix saw a movie in a beautiful theater with a high ceiling and ornamentation on the walls. they really pulled out all the stops in LA for the damn movies. and the whole time, even with matt’s spitfire commentary, felix had wanted hasan there. the hasan he was promised. or the hasan that he’d made up?

and then the fifth day. a morning text, a hiking invitation. really? felix decided beggars couldn’t be choosers. but the day advanced to night faster than he’d expected, and the driving, which felix usually hated about this city, became a place of contentment. just sitting with the person you like, listening to music, stuck in traffic, stuck with each other. reading the signs. making jokes about vanity license plates. existing together.

let’s take a drive, hasan had said, and it was music to felix’s ears. los angeles on a warm, early-summer night was unbeatable. he could never live here full time–too many beautiful people, not enough regular ones. but the appeal was obvious: the perfect weather, the glorious sunsets, the windy roads up in hills overlooking the sea of stars. listening to late-night dj sets on eclectic radio stations, ethereal synthesizers filling felix’s veins. hasan embodied this moment; driving too fast on mulholland, skin tanned and still warm from the lingering california sunlight, eyes hidden by sunglasses but smile as smooth as stones on the beach, the smell of strange trees and flowers smashed by tires, but the ocean, always. he felt like he’d been swallowed whole.

when they made it back to hasan’s apartment after too many confessions were spilled on the drive home, felix was still entranced by the lazy serenity of los angeles. they made tea and forgot about it while they kissed on the couch, slow and vague, tongues sticky from the salt in the air. the lights all orange and blue and soft. felix had fucked friends before but it was never like this–never this deliberate. the way his cock felt on hasan’s abdomen made his head spin–he hadn’t smoked weed in years but it felt better than any body high he’d ever achieved, hasan’s muscles flexing and relaxing against his own, mumbling low praises at what a nice ass felix had. when the man flipped him over and put his whole weight into him felix almost came instantly, but he held on until hasan was filling him himself, bruising felix’s neck with sucking kisses.

when the deed was done and felix rolled onto his back, he shivered in the breeze caused by the ceiling fan. Hasan pulled close to him, thighs wrapping around each other for over-abundant warmth, the man kissing his neck again. suddenly los angeles made sense to felix as a bastion of failed hopes, a dirty city hallucinated by mad men, but so tranfixing, romantic, mysterious, where every encounter feels simultaneously like the most important one you could ever have or just a fleeting dream


End file.
